Untitled
by ShelBel4383
Summary: Methos and a surrogate student run into some trouble while training. Oneoff fic, sort of marooned all by itself...


_This is sort of a tag to a fic I never quite finished, and never quite liked. I love this bit, though. It has kind of a "beginning" quality to it, like it could be the lead to a whole new fic somewhere along the way... someday I am so going to rewrite the fic that spawned this._

_AU, with an OFC. Friendship, mentorship, injury. Post "Not To Be". Read & Review, please!_

_-Shel_

* * *

Methos squared off, Jaime's eyes following his every move. She was breathing heavily and the tip of the sword he'd lent her wavered slightly. She was tired, but he knew she'd refuse to admit it.

"One more time," she rasped. Methos, deciding to put an end to this nonsense, straightened and leaned negligently on his own blade.

"We're done, Jaime," he sighed, turning his back on her. He heard Jaime's frustrated hiss of breath.

"Adam, I can DO this," she insisted, but Methos shook his head.

"Maybe, but not today."

"ADAM…."

He whirled, eyes dark and face twisted into a mask of fury. "I said we're DONE!" he shouted.

Jaime's face fell, then suddenly was expressionless. Methos cursed under his breath, recognizing the cold rage of overwhelming exhaustion and realizing he should've stopped the lesson earlier. He watched her carefully as she straightened and ran a hand through her hair, her skin beaded with sweat.

"Fine," she sighed. "Done."

With a tiny nod, Methos turned and took no less than two steps before he heard the hiss of steel behind him. He groaned internally. Damn, he wished she didn't make him do this…. Easily he sidestepped Jaime's lunge, her blade slicing through empty air past his shoulder. Jaime made a small sound of surprise as she over balanced, and Methos casually swung his own blade around and smacked her with the flat of it across her butt, sending her face first into the dirt.

He stood stone still and watched her sprawl onto the ground, sword skittering away as the hilt sprang from her hand. "Are you finished?" he drawled, twirling his broadsword on its tip, the guards blurring into transparency.

"SHIT!" Jaime yelled, pounding the dirt with a dusty fist. "Aaaaaarrrrrrrggggghhhhhh!" Her energy exhausted, she let her forehead fall into the dust and succumbed to gravity. Methos watched her, expression bland, seeing the shaking of her shoulders as frustration gave way to exhaustion. With a deep breath, he knelt in front of her in the dust. Jaime was still swearing but the rage behind the curses was gone now, leaving only weariness behind. "Son of a bitch…"

"Jaime." He tucked his blade safely away and reached out for her arm. With an inarticulate growl she yanked it out of his grasp and scuttled a few inches away on her belly without looking up. Methos sighed and tried again. "Jaime, c'mon," he said softly. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have knocked you on your ass."

One intense green eye peered up at him from under dusty lashes and matted hair, a streak of skin showing where a tear had escaped down her cheek.

Methos remained where he was, a tiny smile curling up one corner of his mouth. "You deserved it, though," he added slyly. "Trying a half-assed coup like that. Amanda would have your head in a moment if she knew."

"That I tried, or if I succeeded?" Her voice was muffled by the dirt, but Methos caught the distinct impression that the worst was past.

He allowed himself to actually smile. "Take your pick." He extended a hand, and Jaime sighed heavily.

"You think she's that attached to you, old man?" She took his hand and allowed him to help her up. Methos winced at her use of the endearment as she dusted herself off. She still had no idea who or how old he was, but had deduced (from information given to her by Amanda, no doubt) that he was older than her mentor. But every time she called him "old man" it reminded him of MacLeod, the damn Boy Scout…

"Well, we all have our delusions," he quipped. Jaime wearily picked up the borrowed blade she'd been using and inspected it with a sigh.

"Nicked it," she breathed. "Damn." Methos shrugged it off.

"Won't be the last time," he told her. "Forget about it."

"But it's yours," she sighed, tucking it safely within the confines of her light coat. Methos shook his head.

"Not anymore. You keep it."

Jaime blinked uncomprehendingly. "Wha?"

"Keep it. You need one, and it suits you better than it ever did me." He smirked. "Too short."

Jaime rolled her eyes and a smile actually emerged onto her face. Through the dust-and-grime coating her skin, her teeth shone brilliantly in the semi-darkness. "Adam, your ego astounds me, given what you were to work with."

Methos chuckled, shaking his head ruefully. "I'm glad my person is so appealing to you."

Jaime looked at him- really looked- and Methos almost felt uncomfortable under her gaze. "In an odd, angular sort of way, it is." She grinned at his discomfort. "Not my type, though. Now, from what I've heard of this MacLeod guy you and Amanda keep talking about…" She grinned wolfishly.

"You'd have to fight Amanda for dibs," he drawled. Jaime shrugged and started toward the door.

"You know the old saying about choosing your battles?" she said, her smile hidden behind her hair but showing in her voice. Methos opened his mouth to respond but froze, his and Jaime's eyes meeting at the all-too-familiar buzz of a nearby immortal.

Jaime's complexion turned slightly green, and Methos swore internally. She was the first immortal he'd encountered who got physically ill at the buzz. Mac had once related a story about a friend of his who had sneezing fits, but nothing like this… Jaime dropped to her knees and was inelegantly sick, swearing vividly between heaves.

"God," cough, heave, "I hope," another cough and heave, "that I grow out of this," wheezing breath, "soon." Methos drew his weapon and stood over her protectively. God help him if Jaime lost her head; Amanda would decapitate him herself. Never mind that he actually liked the young immortal. Her sense of humor was right up his alley, and it had been years since he'd met anyone with his capacity for beer…

"Methos." The word chilled the older immortal to the bone. Jaime was too busy throwing up to notice.

"Show yourself." His voice was outwardly calm, but a growing lump of fear was chilling his gut. This immortal knew who he was, and that usually boded ill. He stepped back a pace and tapped his heel against Jaime's hand. "C'mon, yank, get up," he hissed. Jaime swatted irritably at his ankle.

"Bite me, Adam," she hissed. "I'm still in the process here…" As if to prove her point, she vomited again, this time on his shoes. Methos swore and Jaime slumped to the ground, groaning.

"If I never see another immortal it'll be too soon," she rasped. "At least we know it isn't Amanda." That was true, Methos had to admit; if Jaime's tendency had one advantage, it was that she seemed to become accustomed to the immortals she spent time with. She sensed the buzz for Amanda and Methos now, but it no longer made her ill. Something seemed to occur to her suddenly, and she raised herself off the ground with some difficulty.

"Did you just call me 'yank'?"

"Jaime, now is not the time…"

"I can't believe you called me 'yank,' you grumpy old man…" Jaime drew her sword grimly, and Methos noted she was still unsteady on her feet as she carefully took the defensive, back to back with him. Her sword was at the ready but the tip still wavered, although whether it was from exhaustion or her reaction to the buzz he couldn't tell.

The buzz intensified, and Jaime groaned. Methos cast a look over his shoulder and saw her press the heel of her hand into her eye. "Unh, my head is going to split!" she muttered painfully. Methos sighed.

"Hang in there, James, you'll be okay. Whoever it is seems to be after me and not you."

"Great. You'll get killed and I'll be a pile of vomit on the floor. Amanda will just LOVE that."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Methos chuckled. "I thought you said she wasn't that attached to me."

"She's more attached to you than me," she replied. "After all, you've been around longer…"

"If I had a hand to spare I'd knock you on your ass again."

"I'd like to see you try."

"If you two are finished, I'd like to get on with it," came the voice. Methos felt Jaime freeze and peered over his shoulder as the challenging immortal emerged from the shadows in front of her. A small choked sound emerged from her throat and Methos whirled to face his opponent as the immortal sized Jaime up critically with a cool expression. "Not bad," he drawled, nearly white hair almost blinding in the dim light. "We'll see how you clean up- after I deal with my friend, here."

Methos' eyes narrowed dangerously. "Nice to see you again, Jordan."

Jordan inclined his fair head slightly, icy blue eyes glittering. "Methos."

Jaime dropped out of her defensive stance and looked pointedly at Methos. "I suppose you'll explain this later."

"MUCH later," he replied, gaze fixed on his opponent. "Go." With a sigh, Jaime stepped out of the circle.

Jordan grinned and drew his sword. "Been a while, eh, Methos?" he prodded. Methos narrowed his eyes and followed the fair immortal's movements calmly.

"Not long enough."

"Oh, I'm of the opinion two thousand years is quite long enough." Methos heard Jaime suck in a breath and he vowed to take Jordan's head for the simple fact that the man's arrogance was irritating beyond belief.

"That makes one of us." Methos mirrored Jordan's circling step for step, unwaveringly.

"You know," Jordan continued conversationally, "you're a very difficult man to find, Methos. Oh, I'm sorry- I suppose I should call you Adam, shouldn't I? That is your current alias, isn't it?"

Definitely take his head. No doubt about it. If he hadn't wanted to fight before, he did now. "Either get to the point or leave," he sighed. "You're beginning to bore me, Jordan."

"But I'm just getting to the good part."

"I don't care."

"You should." Jordan turned his back on Methos and ambled away carelessly, sword twirling in glittering arcs as he walked: step, twirl, flash, step, twirl, flash….

"You can't say anything I haven't already heard, Jordan- or do anything I haven't already done a long time ago and better than you could imagine."

"True. But what about your student here? Exactly how much does she know?"

"I know enough." Jaime stepped boldly out into the light, and Methos swore inwardly again. He noticed he did that a lot when Jaime was around. "More than Adam thinks I do. You don't scare me, Jordan."

"I should." With that, the immortal lunged. Jaime parried easily, stepping out of the path of his attack and letting Jordan's momentum carry him past. He regained his balance and spun to face her, teeth bared in a feral grin.

"Very good! I am impressed. What other tricks can you do?" He launched a full out attack, and though Jaime was visibly tired she met every thrust solidly.

"By the way-" she paused as Jordan engaged her fully, locking hilts. The pair strained and Jaime pushed off, stepping into the shadows- "I'm not his student."

Jordan blinked, then plunged into the darkness after her with a growl. After a moment, he emerged into the light again, looking confused. Methos crossed his feet at the ankles and smiled disarmingly at the obviously discomfited immortal.

"Picked on the wrong newbie today, did we?" he prodded dryly. Jordan growled incoherently at him as Jaime's laughter echoed through the warehouse.

"Catch me if you can!"

Jordan began prowling, much to Methos' delight. "Thought she'd be easy, did you?" he taunted. "Just because she's young doesn't mean she's green, Jordan." He watched coolly as the fair haired immortal searched every nook and cranny he could find. "You know, I've got a win-win situation here," Methos mused aloud. "If she loses and you take the Quickening, I take yours before you can recover. If she wins and takes your Quickening, she gets stronger. In either case, you're dead and I'm happy."

"ENOUGH!" Jordan roared, turning his attention from Jaime back to Methos. He hurtled across the space between them, teeth bared and sword flashing, and Methos parried his vicious but straightforward attack easily.

"Temper temper," Methos crooned, putting a little bit of distance between them. "You always did have a short fuse," he drawled. "I'd think after two thousand years you'd learn to control it better."

"You're wrong, Methos," Jordan growled. "It isn't win-win for you. If I beat you, then I win!"

"Wrong again, Jordan," Jaime's voice floated past. "If you win, then you get Methos' Quickening- and then I take your head."

"She's right, you know," Methos sighed, stepping back further and looking at his blade absently. "Any way you look at it, Jordan- you lose."

"She can't interfere!"

"Oh yes I can," Jaime replied smoothly, stepping out of the very shadows Jordan had. "You challenged both of us: individually, of course, but you did challenge both of us."

Jordan stared, aghast. "You wouldn't."

"Who would know?" Methos prodded, genuinely enjoying himself now. "I certainly wouldn't tell anyone- Jaime?"

Jaime shook her head solemnly. "Not a soul."

Methos cocked an eyebrow and looked sideways at Jordan. "Jordan?"

The fair immortal suddenly seemed to realize his mistake. "Damn you! Both of you!"

"You damned yourself, Jordan," Methos replied smoothly. He gestured toward the nearest exit. "I suggest you go before your temper gets you into any more trouble."

Jordan growled incoherently and backed away, face twisted into a fearsome mask. Without a word he disappeared into the shadows.

Methos stood and watched the place where the immortal had vanished into the darkness, mouth curled up into a tiny smile. Jaime joined him, shoulder to shoulder, her own expression bemused.

"Did we get him?" she asked quietly. Methos frowned slightly, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

"I don't know…"

The buzz was so sudden it shook him to his toes. He and Jaime whirled as one to see Jordan come flying out of the darkness, leaping off a second story loft, sword drawn and coat flying. Methos went to the right, Jaime went to the left, and Jordan landed neatly between them. The fair immortal hit the ground, rolled, and came up on his feet, but not before his sword lashed out and caught Methos across the heels.

Methos didn't make a sound as he felt the blade bite through his heavy boots and into flesh. He knew without a doubt that his Achilles tendons were severed even before his knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor, Jordan's plan becoming all too clear: disable one, take the other, and come back for the first before the Quickening could begin.

But Jordan hadn't counted on Jaime. She was very young, but wasn't stupid. She'd read the rogue Watcher's journal and knew all about cunning immortals eager to bend the rules. And best of all, she knew what she was doing around a sword. She might not have all the tricks of a three (or five) thousand year old immortal, but Methos knew from experience she could hold her own.

He felt the warm blood pooling in his shoes and wished with all his might for Jaime to take the bastard's head.

As Jordan gained his feet, Jaime saw Adam fall. Her jaw clenched and she raised her blade as Jordan spun to face her, eyes bright.

"Who will save you now?" he hissed. Jaime felt rage building inside her at his insinuation of her helplessness but shoved it down. _Don't get mad_, she repeated to herself, hearing Amanda's voice in her head. _When you get mad, you lose control and you make mistakes. Duncan taught me that…_

Duncan was a very wise man, Jaime thought grimly as Jordan charged. She'd have to thank him some day. The first blow made her arms feel like water. This guy had a brute force unlike anything she'd ever felt; of course, she'd only ever really sparred with Amanda and Adam, which reminded her of the name that this Jordan character had called him.

Methos.

Hmph. Damned if it didn't suit him…. Another blow brought her jarringly back to the present. Jordan was swearing a blue streak and his face bore an expression of wild rage. He kept coming, and Jaime suddenly found herself realizing that she couldn't beat him. Blow after blow he hammered her down, her arms like lead weights, the sword drooping in her hand. Panic rose bitterly in her throat. She'd only just learned that she wouldn't age or die a week ago, and here it looked like she was going to meet her demise prematurely anyway...

Then something weird happened.

As Jordan advanced, he lurched off balance. There was an odd, squishing noise, and he looked down in shock. Jaime looked too, feeling a bit slow on the uptake, like someone had put the world on slo-mo and hadn't bothered to tell her.

Jordan's foot was gone. His pant leg simply ended at the floor, and a dark puddle was spreading from the cuff. Stretched out on the concrete behind him, full length on the floor, lay Adam, sword in hand and bearing a dark stain near the tip. He grinned up at Jaime and raised Jordan's severed foot in his hand.

"NOW we have him." Jordan stared numbly, first at Adam, then at his foot, then he turned to Jaime.

The last thing she saw was his mouth forming a perfect O as she swung. Her blade hit something solid, resisted, then swept through, and there was a hollow thump as the immortal's head hit the floor. Jaime's eyes were squeezed shut in a contorted grimace of concentration and denial at what she was actually doing. Methos watched as Jordan's body hit the floor a moment later and tossed the foot over to it distastefully. Jaime stayed where she was, eyes still closed, face relaxing into an expression of disbelief- and horror.

"Jaime." Methos spoke. She started and looked at him, only a few feet away, eyes dark and huge. Methos wished he could help her, but knew he couldn't. He sighed. "You'll be okay."

The first arc of the Quickening took her viciously, and she stiffened. The second was worse, and Jaime began to curl into herself, fists balled and knees buckling as the third and fourth bolts struck. After that, it didn't much matter, the strikes came too fast to count. Jaime sank to her knees, silent amidst the storm, an aura coalescing around her as she absorbed the power. It shone so brightly Methos found himself squinting, unable to see Jaime any longer, just the ball of light. As the last arc struck, he heard something coming from within the ball, something that sounded as if it were far away but approaching at incredible speed, a screaming, roaring noise that suddenly exploded in front of his face into a million brilliant shards.

He blinked, eyes smarting from the glare, and saw Jaime in the middle of a shower of sparks. She was on her knees, forehead on the floor, arms flung out wide to either side. Her breath came out in shuddering, labored gasps, and she didn't move for a long moment.

She drew a deep, rasping breath. "Adam," she wheezed, "If Amanda doesn't kill you for this, I might."

Methos laughed, a startlingly bold sound, and Jaime raised her face from the floor and peered out at him from under her hair.

"I'm serious." He groaned slightly as he drew himself together, stiff from the cold floor and aching all over. His tendons had mended and he lurched awkwardly to his feet.

"Let's get the hell out of here," he suggested tiredly. "I for one could use a beer."

"I second the motion," Jaime grumbled, pushing herself up on her hands. She took the hand he offered and climbed to her feet, each using the other for support. "Only I need a case. And a hot shower."

"A case each it is," he amended. "And two hot showers. Think the barge can handle it?"

"Even if it can't, it's a good place to start."

"Amen to that."

They walked out of the warehouse, thankful that night was falling and lent it's dark disguise to their weary, dirty features. A minute later, climbing the gangway to the deck, Jaime sighed.

"Adam?"

"Hmm?" Methos was in an exhausted stupor, concentrating on putting on foot in front of the other and barely registering that she'd spoken. He was totally incapable of forming actual words and was surprised that she could.

"Are you Methos?"

He stopped and looked at her. Jaime's face was pale and smudged with grime, but her eyes were fever-bright.

"You know about Methos?"

She shrugged. "The journal mentioned him, briefly. One of the Horsemen, supposedly the oldest immortal still living- more of a myth than reality. Of course, that was written over a thousand years ago…"

He sighed and gathered her under his arm. "Let's get cleaned up and something to drink in our hands and I might think about telling you tomorrow."

"That's all the answer I need," she sighed. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, shedding her jacket in a pile on the floor. Methos followed her lead. "It fits you," she said, voice muffled as she pulled off her sweatshirt and tossed it onto the bed.

Methos, shoes already off and sprawled on the sofa, blinked. "What?"

"The name. Much better than Adam."

"Oh."

"We aren't going to make it to the beer, are we."

Eyes already closed, Methos barely had the energy to mumble. "Some of us aren't going to make it to the shower."

"Speak for yourself. See you in the morning."

"Mmmhmmm." He never heard Jaime close the bathroom door, and was even less aware of when she emerged freshly scrubbed, threw a blanket over his lanky form, and crawled into her own bed at the opposite end of the barge.

Bathed in the liquid darkness, they slept.


End file.
